


The Office Life

by Hanist



Series: Health and Safety [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Crack, Fluff, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:51:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hanist/pseuds/Hanist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t just work. I could escape if it was just work; it was my apartment too. It wasn’t in a bad place necessarily, but it was quite small. The neighbours were a slight annoyance; I knew all too well by now that “Gabe’s little princess” had worked it for “daddy” on a nearly nightly basis for almost two years and counting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Photocopy. Walk to desk. Sit down, maybe have a coffee. Get up, walk back to photocopier. Collect sheets of paper. Walk back to desk. File accordingly.

It was hell.

It wasn’t just work. I could escape if it was just work; it was my apartment too. It wasn’t in a bad place necessarily, but it was quite small. The neighbours were a slight annoyance; I knew all too well by now that “Gabe’s little princess” had worked it for “daddy” on a nearly nightly basis for almost two years and counting. While the noises are sort of hot in a weird way, anything that interrupts Jack Long: American Dragon doesn’t deserve to register on Hanzo’s arousal scale no matter how much you want to give “daddy” a medal for his inhuman stamina. It should be illegal for walls to be that thin.

I could let my ears lap up their fantastic sex life all I wanted (and I increasingly found myself inching just that little bit closer to the wall as the months wore by); but frankly I was jealous, lonely, and so far into denial that I’d really forgotten the meaning of the word. I knew some part of me was sick of the constant lack of company after my brother had decided on moving out (with the reasoning of wanting to be ‘one of the lads’ and having his own ‘man cave’ finally being checked off his non-existent how-to-be-adult list), but I’d completely forgotten how to initiate a conversation, let alone hold one.

The first real encounter with them was perhaps by chance, although I’d lived next door for at least three months before any other substantial contact occurred. Naturally, there had been the odd accidental picking up of the wrong mail, or occasionally the laundry. Neither of us paid much attention either way, or so I thought. Thinking back, maybe they were just waiting to make their entrance. 

It was awkward to talk to them at first, considering their nightly satanic rituals to the god of lubricant that I was all too aware of, but they didn’t seem overly fussed. I was addressed as “the neighbour” for as long as I refused to tell them my name. They resorted to looking through my mail one morning.

“Hand-zo Shimada? Reckon he’s Chinese from all the ‘sh-shi-ss’?” the blonde one murmured. I watched quite conspicuously from behind one of the potted plants, but they were so wrapped up in themselves that I was hardly worried about them noticing me. 

“He’s been living here three months now, yet he never visits,” the taller, somewhat more edgy-looking one mused, with almost hurt undertones. Truth be told, despite the noise I often forgot I had neighbours at all; they were strangers I passed in the hall every so often, faces behind their own locked doors that I had no business with.

I was pondering this when they spotted me. Their expressions rang clear as day at first; I was spying on them. Then a slight shiftiness in their eyes erupted behind their suspicious masks into full-blown panic.

Then I understood. They were looking through my mail, and they had been well and truly caught.

I was the dragon neighbour from hell.

I smirked, making my way towards them. I was well aware, thanks to my mirror, that any other expression generally let my face bask in a beautiful glow that hovered between heavily constipated and bitchy, neither of which is generally the best look to go for when you want answers from your ridiculously kinky and intrusive neighbours. I wasn’t quite sure what answers I wanted at this point; perhaps I was finally sick of my own company and just wanted an opportunity for human contact. Maybe I was genuinely annoyed. I preferred the latter in my own mind.

It turns out that there were no obvious ulterior motives; they were curious. We held a short conversation in which I corrected them that no, despite the ‘sh’ sound I was not Chinese, but Japanese instead, before they scurried back to their apartment. 

Progress, in my mind, although I noted an odd silence floating between the walls that night. They looked terrified at first, but in the coming days, weeks, months, things changed. It was slow, but eventually Jack and Gabriel, as I had come to know them, would come round every few nights. Perhaps I went to theirs; sometimes we even left the apartments behind us and walked in the streets. Jack was a child at heart somewhere under those impossibly preened blonde locks and the gruff voice; Gabriel a mother. Their initial appearance betrayed them. They worked in tandem and it was perfect to watch.

It would always begin with Gabriel. Jack would be calmly walking beside him one minute; the next he would be laying on the ground, all four limbs pinned down and body writhing pitifully, Gabriel licking his face in an oddly feline fashion. He’d wriggle, desperately attempting to break the hold and failing. It was obvious to see why; Gabriel had the soft, defined curvature in his muscles that screamed “I’m stronger than Jack”. And those thighs. Reality followed suit, and although I gritted my teeth and appeared annoyed, my inner fangirl was chanting in time with their hearts.

I disgusted myself.

Work became easier. I found people that I clicked with; Satya was much like me in certain ways, Jamison in others. There was a quiet, round-faced male who seemed to act years older rather than years younger. Zenyatta; though I was unsure where he was from, he certainly seemed to fit the firms group of misfits. He had a Japanese boyfriend– or so he said, and that instantly made him more approachable than the others in my mind despite the looming feeling of something being just a little bit off about him. 

The Japanese - albeit robotic and lacking fluidity - he’d tentatively test the waters in was like a velvet blanket of security that I could wrap myself in whenever we had breaks together, or lunch. He seemed to have an odd affinity with Hamtaro. Or was it Naturo? The ninja program Genji would insist we watched as children. More like forced as he grabbed for the TV remote and stuffed it down his pants before trotting off to prepare food in the kitchen.

Zenyatta and I talked for hours despite his responses lacking even more so than my own usually did; he’d never pry, always seeming to understand the difficult boundary between interesting and painful. I learnt a lot about him. He liked to talk, not to overshadow. 

Today’s discussion happened to revolve around the soon-to-be-boss. New guy. No one had heard much on who he was or where he came from, only that he was a child. Merely 21, the prime of his life – and here he was about to transfer to a bleak office of a marketing company. What a waste. 

11pm, and it was whilst in this drunken stupor following the tiresome day in the office that I first bumped into Jesse McCree; too many wild westerns had been watched during his childhood by the looks. From the spurs that probably broke office dress code all the way up to the hat that downright shit all over the rule book for good measure. Granted, when the familiar face of my brother had barged into the apartment with two weighty bottles of the Cabernet Sauvignon Limited Edition clinking together in one hand and a suspiciously unlabelled bottle in the other – it was difficult to see the advantages of getting wasted out of my mind along with two overly-affectionate and curious neighbours as well as a handful of strangers who could be just about anyone. As well as my brother, currently sloshed and sporting a new luminous green hair cut that was likening him to that of an onion. 

Socializing was not my forte. 

Wait.

How did he even get my new address?

Not even two hours later, I felt large palms kneading against the skin of my chest; whisky-tinged breath on my tongue and for some reason, the warmth was entirely welcome. That was odd. 

Is that what was in the bottle?

I invited his own curious tongue into my mouth, hands grabbing at whatever we could get them on. It was the man above me who broke the kiss; I felt myself initially protesting at the break in contact, only to find the same hands that had gently pushed me onto the couch making swift work of the buttons on my shirt. He was counting, I realised. I laughed, carding my fingers through the umber mop on his head that'd been slightly tussled due to earlier eagerness. There was a clinging scent of smoke, not entirely off-putting in the current circumstances.

I realised at that moment that I was happy. His hands skimmed my stomach; carefully tracing the creases in my skin, playfully pulling at stray and not-so-stray hairs here and there as his eyes flashed over the inked skin of my right arm, a compliment playing on his lips.

“This beautiful man is our new fuckin' BOSS: McDonalds,” slurred a barely coherent and obviously intoxicated Genji who stood shakily in the doorway, using the frame as a crutch of sorts. I was reluctant to follow his drunken gaze, before realizing that he was trying his damned best to keep his eyes focused on the cowboy above me. “And this, this piece of shit is my brother. Han’soap. He don't bite, J-dizzle, it’s just how his face looks normally, 'das all-”  
Nani the fuck. 

Was Genji even allowed to drink this much? He reminded me of those inane youths you see on the internet, posting to that Vine app of how they’re getting high or drunk, even though they look twelve. Hell, with how he was acting right now, he looked twelve. My brother’s voice slowly faded out to a dull though rather annoying mosquito-pitched whine in the background as I glanced back up at the equally confused man above me. His hair framed his face as prettily as spring and autumn framed winter. His eyes were rounded and warm and enveloped in thought.

Probably wondered who the fuck dyes their hair luminous green. 

It sunk in. 

I worked at the firm. 

Genji worked at the same firm. 

Genji worked in the same office. 

New boss.  
Transfer.  
21.

He was staring back at me with an expression other than the pure adoration I had grown accustomed to over the past hour; horror, and I’m sure his face was mirrored perfectly in mine. 

McCree, Jesse. 21. Newly in charge of the Marketing Department. 

What the fuck was I doing getting it on with my new boss.


	2. Layers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Visually scrolling down the suggestion bar I zoned in on ‘HOW TO APOLOGIZE TO YOUR BOSS FOR A BIG MISTAKE.’ Amongst that were other desperate questions of ‘how to apologize to your boss for being rude,’ ‘how to apologize to your boss for missing a meeting,’ ‘how to apologize to your boss sample-‘ sample? They make samples for this?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This'll probably be lengthened and combined with a separate shortie, but for now it's this.  
> Poor onion child.  
> Takes place immediately after the last chapter. Yeh, yeh.  
> Feedback is loved, pals.
> 
> I'm totally putting off editing the rich text version of the first chapter smh.
> 
> d-valent.tumblr.com

It was awkward to speak at first, considering that the rip-off cowboy above me had just been worshipping me to whatever gambling, chap-wearing, cigar-smoking god he probably prayed to every night before bed. He didn’t seem overly concerned. Concern commanded overthinking to come into play for it to manifest itself. His head likely had nothing but vast plains of bare desert with a rather fitting tumbleweed dancing through it. ‘The Good, The Bad & The Ugly’ theme tune would be heard from _somewhere_. I snorted inwardly at my mental image. His expression shifted to that of momentary confusion.

_Was that out loud._

“You work in the firm, Ha-“

 

* * *

 

_‘HOW TO APOLOGIZE TO YOUR BOSS’_

That seemed like a good place to start.

Visually scrolling down the suggestion bar I zoned in on ‘ _HOW TO APOLOGIZE TO YOUR BOSS FOR A BIG MISTAKE._ ’ Amongst that were other desperate questions of ‘ _how to apologize to your boss for being rude,_ ’ ‘ _how to apologize to your boss for missing a meeting,_ ’ ‘ _how to apologize to your boss sample,_ ‘ sample? They make _samples_ for this? 

All was not in vain as the current predicament warranted this search from months before without me even baring awareness.

 

**How to Say Sorry to Your Boss**

God, I hated the overuse of Times New Roman where unnecessary. Quietly mouthing the words of the opening paragraph, I had quickly pursed my lips at the droning. I could inwardly hear what could only be described as the typically inane white-mom voice talking down to me as though scolding me for what I was to later do with my boss, that of which even I hadn’t known of at the time.

_Moms know everything._

My eyes skimmed over the words decorating the screen of the MacBook Air seated on my lap, ‘ _Apologizing for your behaviour or actions is difficult, especially if the apology is to your boss and you fear losing his respect or losing your job. What if the boss does not accept your apology?_ ’ Indefinite. ‘ _What if your tone is wrong and you make things worse?_ ’ Definite. ‘ _Apologies take courage. It’s not easy in the face of all that fear and uncertainty to walk up to your boss and say those important words with sincerity. Even a less-than-ideal apology will-_ ‘ I glanced up at the name resting beneath the brash title of the page.

Gail.

_For god sake, Gail. This isn’t a therapy session._

 

* * *

 

The flashback of the fateful search had supplied me with nothing in the moment other than a vicious, burning hatred toward one unmarried, recycled writer going by the name of _Gail Sessoms_ at _StudioD._

 

Get it over with, Hanzo.

With little more time to stall, I was forced into blurting a haphazard, rather curt apology in my boss' general direction, followed with “If you spot a kid boasting that he’s got the dankest memes, little taller than me, neon green hair? Call me over, and then call the cops. He will try to tell you he’s my brother. He isn’t. I have no brother.” Jesse’s eyes bore into my back, his expression resting on pained.

Thankfully, I found the brat before he did.

I duly considered a light bleach bath as my fingers made contact with the disgustingly clammy wrist of my brother, of whom I found myself inches away from seconds later. Staring right back at me were the foolishly smug features of Genji's punchable face. "You didn't _tell me_ that was our new boss, Genji."

A smarmy grin curled at the edges of his drool-coated lower lip. I could smell cheap sake on his breath. _Who the fuck brought sake over_. He was still slurring, though seemed to be more conscious of the situation.

" _Hanz_ _the Manz_ , chill, I thought I did earlier today - all the deetz 'n shit when we went on our coffee break!"

I took in the mischievous gleam in his eyes, the quirk in his eyebrow. He wasn't even in work today. Even whilst drunk this vegetable was provoking me. I would chew him up and spit him out if need be.

Memory ever helpful, I successfully blanked out that one time in the local arcade wherein I spoke too assuredly after consuming a particularly rebellious piece of lettuce, enunciated a ‘P’ just a little too enthusiastically, and had it claim the point on Genji’s cheek; a glob of drool holding it hostage to become one with his horrified facial features. And possibly that field trip to the Zoo when a soaked square of bread also took up residence on my brothers’ face during a heated debate. Perhaps chewing him up wasn’t a good idea. Time to consult one James Wan on creative ideas to make someone listen to you.

"From the looks of things you were enjoying your _McDoub-_ "

My eye twitched. This child was going to give me an aneurism. How natural selection had not yet staked its claim was entirely beyond me. No amount of logic could solve this. It was the eighth mystery of life. That was what was missing in the book, that would’ve given it the remaining 0.6 of its final score needed to make it a perfect 5/5 in _GoodReads_.

Being far too interested in my brilliant ideas of how to help out the author Guy Murchie, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind to overrule his suggestive comment. That just so happened to regard his newly-luminous mane.

"You look like a fucking onion."

His face dropped.

_Hanzo: 1, Genji: 0_

The gong of Mortal Combat called, a resolute ** _FATALITY_** echoed.

The satisfaction pulsed through my very core at seeing his resolve crumble; eagerly awaiting the smug chirrup to lilt into that of a frustrated and strangled tone during the course of his next sentence. Against my assumptions, Genji didn't falter. His face got impossibly closer, he was chasing the dragon. I could spot some half-hearted attempt at concealer underneath his eyes from this distance. And-

_Is he wearing eyeliner?_

 My eyes squinted in calculative confusion; I could hear his breath escaping in short rasps, see the drops of sweat dotting his forehead and temples. There was a low hissing sound made within the confines of his throat.

_Is his body rejecting the alcohol? Is he about to throw up?_

"Onions have layers.”

What.

" _Ninjas. Have_. **_Layers_**."

A fleck of spittle hit my forehead and I retracted as though burned.

He's lost it. It's official. Mental note added to purchase some screws from the 24hr shop down the street.

“Sure.” I deadpanned, sparing a moment before reaching to grasp the door handle to the bathroom I had no recollection of dragging the both of us into for our private discussion.

_Discussion?_

Argument.

Therapy session.

I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. "Go home. You are drunk."

"Home is wherever you are, brother! I am home," He had seemingly forgotten of his lapse in control and short display of upset for the time being.

I wondered _, did I commit murder in a separate life? Was I really a bad person? Did I write sins, instead of tragedies?_

"How did you even find my apartment?"

"My heart led-"

"Get out."

My attention shifted to the overpowering sound of one _Bebe Rexha_ reverberating against the tiled walls of the bathroom. A glance back at Genji and I realized I'd fucked up. He looked like it was Christmas. I mentally recalled the calendar I’d passed whilst in the break room this afternoon. June 19th. The final video of that peculiar web series was meant to be released today.

"NO BROKEN _HEARTS_ IN THE CLUB, NO _TEARS_ IN THE CLUB,"

_Hanzo: 1, Genji: 1_

I still hadn't answered my phone. But did I want to see the scratched, cracked surface of what was supposed to be a respectable smartphone I had blown the majority of my monthly wages on? No.

"-WE ONLY GOT. ONE _LIIIIIIIFE_ ,"

Yes.

I slammed the door behind myself, checking the illuminated screen.

**_Daddy is calling…_ **

_Hanzo: 1, Genji: 2_

For the following hour I would try to trick myself into being mad at him for acquiring ~~the hot cowboy~~ my boss’ phone number.

" _THRIH IN THE MORNI', FOU IN THE MORNI’, MIT YU FOR EGGS IN THE MORNI’-_ "

It wouldn’t be until the much later that the dim yowling in the background would seize.  

 

* * *

 

**4:18AM.**

The twitch at the corner of my left eye had returned with a vengeance. Everyone needed to leave. Genji needed to leave. Satya offering a gentle wave of her fingers in my direction caught my attention. A woman of few words, well-spoken when shared. Prim and proper even at an ungodly time like this. Always guarded, it seemed, though the faintest hints of worry teased at the corners of her lips. I briefly wondered what description would accurately fit my current expression. It certainly wasn’t checking off the boxes of heavily constipated or bitchy. Perhaps troubled youth? Troubled youth who had ‘wrongly’ been given an ASBO? Better.

 

It was all his fault. The thing skulking in the corner, a flash of green taunting me as I glanced back over, frown permanently etched on my features. He was lurking. Mouthing something at me. I concentrated on his lips.

_Don’t feel no shame, just feel the champagne-_

I was going to kill him.

Eye contact was broken and he glanced down at the shitty Samsung Note 13 in his palm. _Hah._ Fools pick. IPhone master race.

Speaking of the devil, a dull buzz – my phone thankfully now on vibrate after the earlier escapade in the bathroom – caught my attention. What was he up to? One glance at the screen confirmed my suspicions.

_Indigo chikd full throttle 420 blaz it dankest Kush!!1 :3_

I spared little more than a critical squint at the text before responding.

_New phone who’s this_

A distant choke rang out over the thumping bass.

 

* * *

 

“Uh, Han’soap is it?”

Oh, yes. Clint over here still hadn’t been addressed. Must’ve been the reason for the call. Surprisingly, given he had remained draped across the frightfully marked leather sofa pressed up against the far wall of the main room. His lips were moist with what I assumed was bourbon; they were slightly swollen. _Tempting._

“Hanzo,” I corrected, evening my breathing and attempting to regain some control of my expression. “I apologize for what transpired between us earlier, sir. Had I known the nature of our newly-formed relationship, I would not have been so forward and accepting of our actions. I hope this won’t disturb our work. It’s nice to meet you formally.” His shirt was still unbuttoned and a deep mark was blooming against the tanned skin of his neck. I looked up toward the ceiling, hand wavering as I briefly considered retracting it.

“Listen, darlin’, I didn’t come seekin’ ya out to reprimand ya for that back there. If anythin’, I came to ask if yer still interested. Seemed quite a shocker when it clicked, couldn’t begin ta explain how pretty ya looked, red as a ripe tomato-“

I zoned out, gaze focused on the blooming mark that was spread over his skin.

I could feel word vomit coming on. Take a deep breath Hanzo, you can do this. “I’m int-“

_No._

Real vomit.

I doubled over, the contents of my stomach emptying out onto my hot boss’ rather expensive looking boots. _Ferrini_. I couldn’t afford that. Genji’s squeal broke me out of my thoughts, the last thing I heard before blacking out being an exclamation of:

“YOOOOOOOOOOOOO **SHIT** , I GOT THAT ON CAMERA.”


	3. Lingo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My brother may be vocal today, Mr.McCree. As a light warning.”
> 
> Vocal? Flashes appear. Singing? Is he plannin’ on getting’ on the desks? Shit. Fuck. What if he meant him and his brother were into that kinky public s- I cringed inwardly. Shimada’s face suggested outwardly too.
> 
> “Filth. Absolute filth. He will be complaining, McCree. He will have complaints. That is all. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be continuing with my work.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh no I took so long  
> I've been so unmotivated recently even to write the dank memes, plus I've been drawing the onion menace for the last few days. Tsk.  
> so well, I'm here, gonna be a double update. Will have a 2-3k chapter up later today methinks. Thank as always, pals. 
> 
> d-valent.tumblr.com

 

Tuesdays weren't ever my sorta thing. Neither were Mondays.

"So, ta sum this up,"

Not even a whole 48 hours into my new position as lead of the marketing department in Overwatch & Co's firm, and I could already give you a full run-down on the office dunce.

"You would like t' submit a formal complaint about one employee under the name of 'Hand-so She-mad-a', that correct?"

The poorly disguised voice rang through the receiver, a far too menacing "precisely," being all the response I could hope to get.

"Genji, kiddo, ya know as yer _boss_ I have this number saved in the system as tha 'mergency number to reach ya on. Right?"

An abrupt click before the line dropped. The outdated Nokia handheld in the worn front pocket of my jeans blipped a robotic charm, alerting me to a new text message.

 

_HES COVERED MY WHOLE DESK JESSE_

 

I was preparing to write a half-hearted and sympathetic response as another blip signalled a second message incoming.

 

_THIS HAS TO BE BREAKING SOME RULE SOMEWHERE ))): <_

 

It was. It almost _definitely_ was. I doubt ya could’ve even called someone an eejit in that office space if I truly got down to readin’ that handy-dandy stack of papers and rulings laying upon the desk. But I wasn’t about to put myself through that.

I hastily typed out a reply, teeth chewin’ away at my lower lip in consideration.

 

_why dont ya jus giv him somma his own medicine? ?_

 

Another blip.

 

_WTF you even type like a coWBOY_

_Thx Jessie xoxox_

 

This brat.

 

_that oughta be boss to you_

 

An afterthought.

 

_or at least spell it righ there aint no i_

* * *

 

“My brother may be vocal today, Mr.McCree. As a light warning.”

Before the better, more awake side of my brain kicked into gear and reminded me to be concerned when a monotonous voice was drifting from within the cubicle blocks, the latter, kinda-less PG half of my brain set in motion. Vocal? Flashes appeared. Singing? Is he plannin’ on getting’ on the desks? Shit- Fuck. What if he meant him and his brother were into that kinky public s- I cringed inwardly. A glance at computer 3 displayed the illuminated grimace of pretty boy.

“Filth. Absolute filth. He will be complaining, McCree. He will have complaints. That is all. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll be continuing with my work.”

I glanced around the office. Nothing was out of place. Why would he be throwin’ a tantrum?

It was a short time later as I did a gradual walk-around, when my eyes caught sight of a very slight addition to the green-haired kids’ desk whilst I was in passing to my new office. Now I’d not say I’m an oblivious sorta man, but it was such a small detail. The most miniscule of details that I’m almost surprised I picked up on it. There, sitting so content and comfy-cozy on the rim of the blank monitor sat a tiny label with the word ‘cuck’ proudly emblazoned on it. It was admittedly difficult to suppress the mild chuckle at such a term. Only one person came into work before me, I’d noted. That brother a’ his. Han’so, Han’some, somethin’ of those sorts. And the quirky sticker definitely hadn’t been there after the place was vacated. It had to have been him.

 

I considered it for a moment, a grumble brewin’ up. The kid was gonna be in my office before I knew it once he caught sight of the offence in question. It’d been three days on the job, two of the prior week, and this mornin’. So far, the kid had complained a total of 2/3 days. The only reason it wasn’t a solid score was because he hadn’t shown up for work yet. I noted that the other one was sat at his desk, furiously typin’ away already. Was work even available yet? Nah, couldn’t be it. Probably on one of those Japanese hentai games. That’s it.

 

The left side kicked in. Hanzo. Early bird. Well I’ll be, maybe I wasn’t dyin’ today after all, came the afterthought. His focus wasn’t on me, but nevertheless I gave an exaggerated tip o’ the hat to which I received a peripheral glance and a nod of acknowledgement—and, was that the slightest smile? Boyo I’ve struck gold.

I glanced once more back at the sticker.

_cuck_

I repressed a snort, clearing my throat. A quick glance back at pretty boy gave me all the information I needed. Today was going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

 

“What the FUCK is this.” A loud screech, definitely coulda been heard from a mile away. Tell me, if a Genji complains in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound? Would need to test that theory o’ mine.

Despite my whimsical debacle, there were bigger matters to attend to, or avoid, currently.

It had begun.

“ _BOSS_ , GET OUT HERE.”

I propped my boots up on the solid oak desk, leisurely reclining in the wheelie chair. Reaching for the office intercom that sat dejectedly on the left edge of the desk, teetering off, probably debating jumping to its death from the conversations it’ll be forced to soon witness.

“Sorry, no demands. Currently seeing to paperwork. No disturbances.” It hadn’t even been 5 spare seconds after lookin’ back up that Genji had his displeased and makeup’d face pressed to the office window. Would need ta wash that now. A crudely scribbled message on bright yellow sticky-note was held up next to him.

I squinted, trying to read it after deeming it a futile attempt were I to try and hurriedly locate my readin’ glasses on the messy desk.

 

**BITCH**

**WHAT THE FUCK**

Wow, rude.

I scrunched my nose, shrugging at him through the reinforced glass of the office block. His expression shifted drastically within a millisecond, taking on what could only be described as a severely suggestive meme: ‘( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)'

He licked his index finger, a glob of spit ready to press against the already smeared glass of my office window.

No no no no no _no_ -

He wasn’t gonna leave me alone with this. I sighed, reaching once more for the intercom. His face brightened. I frowned.

Wait, I could speak to Hanzo.

I could speak to Hanzo _alone_ in my office.

I could speak to Hanzo alone in my office which had _fully functioning shutters_.

Genji’s face morphed to that of mildly perturbed confusion. Wipe the drool, Jesse, wipe the fuckin’ drool, you ol’ dog.

“Handsome Shimada to see me in my office in five minutes, please.”

Oh fuck.

Genji’s eyes widened, lips forming a tight and strained smile. Fuck it all. I zoned in on Hanzo. He looked like the embodiment of disappointment. I grabbed for the intercom.

“Apologies for that, I meant Handsoap Shi-”

He puffed his chest out, his gaze letting me politely know I was to die today. Turns out my runnin’ shoes wouldn’ have helped me anyway.

“HANDZO, HANZO, JUST GET IN THE OFFICE.” I gulped and let out a huge breath of air, panting as though I’d gone an’ run a mile in a minute. I plucked the hat from atop my head and placed it over my face, a loud groan of upset echoing within the small confined space of the item. A light cough brought me from my stupor and I begrudgingly slid the hat down jus enough to peer at the two polar opposites stood within the office.

“Jesse McCree, you may be my boss. But if you ever publicly humiliate me like that again, amongst no other than my work colleagues, those spurs will be lodged up your-“

“Boss, the real problem here is my brother’s behaviour.”

Oh thank the holy spirit.

“I totally understand, Genji, and it’s my duty to remind Hanzo here that-“

“It’s completely out of line that he’s using my own lingo against me.”

 _What._ “What.”

Hanzo’s lips parted in a grimace and he spared the dunce a glance. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Boss. Tell him.”

 _Tell him?_ Tell him _what?_ That I wasn’t following? That I had no idea that when agreeing to take on the marketing department I was signing myself up for a Dr.Phil replacement? “Er- right. Yeah. Hanzo, stop… using… his lingo?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You aren’t buying this, are you?”

Genji grinned triumphantly and raised a fist in the air, a proudly bellowed “YUSH!” resounding. I deadpanned. Glanced at Hanzo. Shrugged. _What can I do_ , I mouthed. _You’re our fucking boss,_ was returned. He looked pained.

A exaggerated gasp momentarily caught the both of our attention's before the kid was trotting out of the office and over to Hanzo’s desk, the both of us remaining within the office, blearily looking out at the scene unfolding. Vaswani purred out an up-tone ‘Hello,’ as the gremlin passed, eyes never leaving the screen.

“I really don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Clearly. Let me handle this.” I scrunched my nose. Let _him_ handle this? Excuse me, partner. I do believe I have a plaque with my- Jack Morrison? The fuck sort of generic named idiot bought a plaque for such a generic name? Okay, so I didn’ have the plaque. I’ll let him handle this.

Satan skipped back into the office shortly after the onset silence was becoming a bit more than ‘awkward,’ a slightly larger than usual label between his grubby fingers.

“We all good, boss, it’s sorted.” And with that, he roughly back-handed the sticker against Hanzo’s cheek. Ouch.

_chicken legs_

Hanzo, though appearing mildly offended at his now reddening cheek, didn’t seem to flinch or lash out in response. He grasped the edges of the label now homing itself on his cheek, peeling it off and glaring down at it.

Well, it wasn’t a good insult really. Coulda done way better, Genj. I rate 2/8.

A matter of seconds and my face was against the rather flattened and uncomfortable carpet of the office, Hanzo’s hands firmly gripping my foot with the spur on my vomit-stained boot held against Genji’s throat.

“Hey, howdy, partner, not ta sound _rude-_ “

A low, guttural growl ensued, “Either of you move and blood will be shed.”

It was still. Dare I say it, for a second I was appreciatin' how silent it was. The whole of the office outside gawked on in shock. I swallowed down a cough, my throat straining to clear.

The tiniest, most feminine titter slid past Genji’s lips and all hell was let loose. Both brothers bolted from the office like street cats ready to scrap, one with my previously homed boot within his hands, exclamations of Sudoku or somethin’ like that aimed at the green-haired menace in front.

I heaved myself up, eyes trained on the clock residing innocently above the now-empty door frame. Only 11. I hobbled out of my office and down the left-wing corridor, one boot, one sock, all eyes on my back. I needed a coffee. Or a cyanide pill.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm unsure if I want to make this chaptered, be it a full story or little drabbles all interlinking into this AU and timeline. Feedback would be great. First time posting here - any suggestions are always welcomed.
> 
> My Tumblr is D-Valent.tumblr.com where I may be posting up short drabbles. :>


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